Last Rose
by Abah
Summary: A thing that I don't like to write but I had to.


The last rose that grew in that garden began to bloom, although it may not Spring yet. As Amélie and Olivia observed from their balcony, the lovebirds had been desperate to grow a beautiful, eternal rose that would remark their everlasting love and friendship, no matter what price they paid. It is no more than minus four degrees Celsius over the skies of France. Olivia knew that to live outside México can be either a bad or a good idea, and now she suffers from a bit of frostbite, not too much, but enough for her to grab any kinds of the sweater to put it on her suntanned body, that seems to be quite an attraction in France. The roses they grow, all the same, but one.

It was as bright as a blue sky on Sunday morning in Summer. It resonates a chill breeze, but it also warms the heart who've seen it, regardless of Amélie lack of emotions, that is. The Last Rose channelled its love vibes throughout its thorns, it may seem hurtful enough to cut your skin on your fingers, but it is worth the pain.

The Rose, as described by many passers, has a distinct aroma to an unknown dessert that sold around town every December triannually. It shares the same blue colour, the same smell, and the same characteristics. Sweet, Lovely, but a bit bitter in the end or in between its sweetness. Many pass-goers would give everything up for this dessert. For a dessert that served on a small plate, with mixed berries sauce and lemon zest, and topped with a pinch of whipped cream, chocolate sprinkles, and sweetened cherry. It is all worth the money. No wonder that many of them would take pictures of Amélie and Sombra's beautiful blue rose. Amélie could only ask herself, asking why would a rose grew in mid-Winter and blooming like it was Spring day in France. Sombra also shared the same thought to herself as she observed the Rose from atop of her balcony.

The Rose shared a wintry, romantic feeling when touched – somewhat similar to feeling blue, no further research comes to understand how strange and complicated this flower could be. It is and was almost looks like a woman with complicated feelings; no one could discern or at least get a grip of what she wants, or a troubled mind of an old scientist that insists so strongly, that he had to give up anything in this world.

Amélie, happily taking care her favourite flower, had to give it up to Olivia due to an illness that she couldn't cure. She has spent a lot of her time taking care a flower so rare that people mistook it for her skin or vice versa. She spent quite an awful lot of time thinking the relation between her pale-bluish skin with a flower that doesn't even match her skin colour; if only she knows the answer.

Humans are perplexed beings, she said. They would dare to spend a lot of their time and money for a thing that benefits only to one or two groups of people in the same study field, and also to gain credibility to get a score on whatever they are researching. Their complex minds and the sheer curiosity itself has led them to the impossible and the impossibilities. They would either play in two ways, crushing your emotions or blowing your minds, the most straightforward yet beautiful thing that happened to a human being.

Later on the night, Amélie took Olivia for a walk with their purple-ish kitten named Bert, they found it sheltering under a dumpster, risking his life brought to a cat pound somewhere near the outskirts. Amélie's mind sticks to the fragile flower that grew on a piece of land in front of her dock, although it may seem safe from a human being, which she hates so much with their troubled minds, it is not entirely reliable from the Flower Thief. A weird person that hunts for exotic flowers during the cold nights and the cheerfulness of holidays and weekends.

"Olivia," she called. "I think we should walk a bit faster; my guts tell me that something is going on with the Rose." She said, walking a bit faster to the park.

"Calm down, you French Rose," she mocked a bit. "Nothing is going on with that flower! We have Chica guarding the thing, right?"

Amélie sighed. "Well, Chica is a female Siberian Husky, right?"

"Ah," She raised her pointing finger. "Not until the Flower Thief met with Conquestoris the Dire Wolf."

Slightly convinced, Amélie said. "Well, that's just a wolf, what if the Flower Thief had a gun?"

She raised her middle finger, side-by-side with her pointing finger, signalling the number two. "I have El Rapidamenta the German Sherperd."

Amélie sighed in relieve. "Wow, that's an awful lot of dogs right there."

Olivia puts her hands on her waist. "It's all bestowed from my dad," she continued while straightening her coat. "He had a lot of dogs that the day he died, he gave me three of his best dogs, capable of outrunning the thief, although playful would be their last resort of taking down those bastards."

Amélie remembered. "Ah, yes, El Rapidamenta, the one who teaches Bert to outrun a bird not too long ago, right?"


End file.
